


No Regrets

by hgcl2



Series: 1888 [2]
Category: original character - Fandom
Genre: Angst, But what’s new, M/M, Only gets worse, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Pain, claude dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-22 08:35:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17056430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hgcl2/pseuds/hgcl2
Summary: Claude is sick, very sick. He’s not going to make it.





	No Regrets

**Author's Note:**

> Cliff belongs to @deadlyphsyche! I wrote this a while back but forgot to post it... anyway.

Claude sat quietly on his bed, his hands folded on his lap as he looked out the window. He usually spent hours like this, sitting uncomfortably in bed and gazing out the window at the busy streets. He would listen to the sound of life outside; the happy voices and banter he had forcibly parted from.

His movement had long been impaired by his illness, and he had been rendered to bed as a result. If he ever wanted to move around the house, he had to be hassled onto a wheelchair and wheeled around by someone else. Apart from sitting in his bed, he would pass time sitting before his piano, pressing the keys like a curious child, not playing those beautiful pieces he had composed and played so passionately in his youth, and letting the notes linger. He would stare at his crooked fingers resting on the keys, wondering how it had come to this. Each time he took himself to his music room, he would notice how more and more dust gathered in top of his piano. As his illness progressed and the pain only grew stronger, his visits became less frequent, and eventually came to a halt. 

When the pain was especially excruciating, he would poignantly double over and twist and contort and cry in gut-wrenching agony. It was in those moments when Claude truly felt ashamed of himself. Of all the things he hated, there was nothing he loathed more than bothering others, more specifically his other half. He hated seeing Cliff’s distressed face, hated seeing him struggling to hold himself together as he tried to hold him down. 

Whenever Claude was awakened by the pain at ungodly hours at night, he would sometimes see Cliff sat upright in the rocking chair right next to the bed, his eyes anxiously fixed on Claude. It had become their little game; Cliff would pretend to not spend the nights watching over Claude, and Claude would pretend to sleep properly despite the pain waking him up every so often. Very rarely, When Cliff actually managed to get some sleep, Claude would watch over him. Sometimes, seeing his lover’s face drove him insane. Sometimes the guilt and agony and sorrow and anger that came from seeing the face he had woken up next to for so many years becoming thinner and paler made him want to scream. Sometimes, whenever he was left alone, when Cliff left early in the morning and Claudette and her husband where nowhere to be seen, he would simply let the tears pour as he clung to those bedsheets he was bound to like a prisoner, letting a choked sob escape his throat until he wasn’t able to hold back anymore. 

He hated it, how his emotions just overtook him and poured out, spilling furiously through the seams as he tugged on the sheets and wept, the ceaseless tears burning his cheeks. He could feel his heart in his throat, chocking him as he tried to scream but no sound escaped him. Could feel his nails digging in his arms as he held himself, and the pain only fuelled the flaming whirlpool of emotions. 

Why did it have to be his fault Cliff was overworking himself just to make sure the very best doctors could tell him time and time again what he refused to believe? Why was he the reason Cliff wasn’t happy? Why was it his fault it was all over? Cliff had abandoned everything for him, and he had to go and ruin it all by getting sick. They had fought so hard to get to where they where, but their happiness and success was merely short lived, cut short by his illness. 

Claude had come to terms with the fact that he was dying. At first, he wondered why it had to be him, why he was unrightfully stripped from his happiness when he had lived a life full of injustice and pain. Those were thoughts that ate at him constantly, but it didn’t last long. It was not long before he realised life was not fair and he would never get his happy ending. It did not matter if he was still young, or if he did not deserve this after all he had been through. There was no point in begging or wondering why. No amount of praying would stop what was already happening. 

That was not the reason he cried, though. Not entirely.

He cried because he loved Cliff. He cried because he loved Cliff and he was leaving him behind. He cried because even though the illness was killing him, it was also slowly ending Cliff. He was leaving behind the man he loved after putting him through so much hardship and anguish, and he was not sure Cliff would be able to go on alone. He did not want to leave Cliff behind.

Despite how hard he tried to convince himself it was not the case, he was scared. Very scared. He could be surrounded by people, yet it was as if he was alone. It was a room full of people, and he was a dead man walking. There would be a day which would inevitably be his very last, the day which would be the last time he saw Cliff’s of handsome face which he had come to love with those eyes accompanied by those dark bags that had formed under his eyes over the years, or his greying hair which he would ruffle and mess with in a sad attempt to cheer him up. There would be a day when he would no longer have Cliff’s firm hands to hold, when Cliff wouldn’t caress his cheek and be there to say those ‘I love you’s that melted Claude’s heart. 

He would be engulfed by darkness, he would be alone again, unable to go back this time.

 

***

Blinking his eyes open, Claude lay in his bed, his head propped up by several pillows and his limp body trembling slightly. He groaned as the weight of the world weighed on him, his own body being too heavy, and every breath he took causing him Greta pain. He attempted to reach out his hand to cup Cliff’s cheek, but he wasn’t strong enough. All the strength he had had long abandoned his body. However, Cliff carefully took his hand and placed it over his cheek, holding his hand steadily over Claude’s to offer support. He blinked a couple of times, trying to steady his blurring and distorted vision, and brought his hand to his forehead, groaning and sighing. Though he could not see properly, he could hear sniffling and the shuffling of fabric along with the sound of hushed voices getting further away. Then, the sound of a door closing put an end to the voices. 

“Are you comfortable?” Claude heard Cliff’s trembling voice. He sounded tired, exhausted, as if he had not slept in days. “You don’t have to say anything if it hurts-”

“I never am.” The words felt heavy. Felt like a giant weight, Claude struggled to get them out. 

Cliff chuckled easily, his voice cracking halfway through. Claude cursed himself. 

“I know. I’m sorry.” Claude felt Cliff grab his hand and give it a tight squeeze, doing so tighter than he was supposed to. Claude didn’t complain. It was too late for that.

“I love you.” There was no response, only a choked, pained noise coming from Cliff. Claude could only imagine the face he was making. Was he doing this on purpose, he wondered. Was he doing this to hurt himself? “I’m sorr-”

“I love you too.” Another pause. Claude bit his lip. He could feel the tears welling in his eyes and rolling shamefully down his sunken face. He groaned, turning his head to the side. Cliff held his breath. There was no going back now. “I have always loved you, Claude Dudley. You know that, do you not?” Cliff held Claude’s hand, stroking his cherished ring that was loosely placed on his slender finger. “Only you.”

Claude’s chest became heavy, weighing him down. He felt his words choking him, making a lump in his throat. He could only cry like a baby, shaking his head and whimpered as his thin frame shook. Cliff propped Claude up with the utmost care, supporting his back and bringing him to a tight embrace. He couldn’t keep himself together, he too let the tears pour.

“It’s- it’s good.... to, uh- know..” he was dizzy, the world around him was spinning. Shutting his eyes tightly, he let out an exasperated sigh and fell into Cliffs arms, burying his face in his shoulder. He was beginning to drift off, starting to feel drowsy. He simpered, lifting his head a little. “I’m- I’m tired, Cliff..” 

Cliff shook his head, wrapping his arms around Claude. “I know, I- I know, love. Just- rest. I love you.” He sobbed. Claude closed his eyes, letting his arms fall to his sides as he nodded weakly. “Sleep well.”

“It’d be nice.. if you- got some, some sleep- too.” Claude whispered. His rattled breathing became shallow, quiet and growing quieter by the second, until it was barely audible. Cliff could still feel Claude’s heart beating, but soon he could sense his lover going cold. 

Cliff held onto Claude’s body tightly, desperately. Claude was gone, and so was a part of Cliff’s heart.


End file.
